Say it isn't so,
dear Valentine,
oh, the butterflies
she runs outside, before her time
to witness an enchanted moment
a cherished memory
one of her very fondest dream-come-trues,
but where has he gone
or where have i went
where is his heart?
one star passed, she crashes down
she calls his name,
she wonders
she weeps
Saint Valentine,
how could you do this to me?
her hands left empty,
her hope left torn
she goes back to breath,
and further to mourn
YOU ARE READING
Nocturna
Poetrythis is a series of poetry, and each and every one of them were written as i sat outside, in the middle of the night.
